Hysteria

My friend celebrates his hysteric expulsion today. Hysteria means, in Greek, all things uterus,so in other words Alexander will be eating cake,and then that cake will be one-day old tomorrow.

In this tomorrow, he visits Phoenix and his mother doesn’t pile on guilt. No hello hug? She gives gas money anyways. No harmcan be done to a woman who self-publishes books on Jesus.She lives in a trailer with baked beans on the stovetop,

and I live in a house with red walls. Where wine tastes corky and polenta facemasks harden like egg yolk. Sometimes I make like a tree and leave curried dishes soaking overnight. Pretend that my mom doesn’t buy me furniture online

when she should be sleeping. She dreams only about living in New Jerseyin a blue mid-century modern ranch. Playing Sheryl Crow’s early years.Pruning the highbush blueberries till five leaves are left hangingon each side shoot. Imagine, meeting a man who’s not afraid

of women crying in daylight. Time moves fast for people who make to-do lists. A magpie takes nest in what used to be a worm compost. Ask me if people change, and I’ll say yes gladly.

Marisa Pesa hails from Ohio but is currently a teacher and PhD rhetoric and composition student at the University of Arizona. She gets to see the Catalina Mountains when throwing out trash.